CHAPTER XII.
A COWARDLY COMMUNICATION.
"You doubtless know why I have come," said Stephen Foster, as he steppedinto the room and closed the door. He looked penetratingly at the youngman through a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses.
"I think I do, sir," Jack replied, "and I am very glad to see you.I rather expected a visit from you. Take a seat, please."
"Thank you--I prefer to stand. My business is very brief, Mr. Vernon.It is quite unnecessary to enter into discussions or explanations. Youare aware, of course, that my daughter has told me everything. Do youconsider that you have acted honorably--that your conduct has been whata gentleman's should be?"
"It has, sir. Appearances are a little against me, I admit, but I havea clear conscience, Mr. Foster. I love your daughter with all my heart,and I have no higher aim in life than to make her my wife. I am heartilyglad of the opportunity to tell you this to your face. Believe me, itwas not from choice that I stooped to clandestine meetings."
Stephen Foster laughed contemptuously.
"You took an unfair advantage of an innocent and trustful girl," hesaid. "My daughter is young, ignorant of the world, and she does notknow her own mind. You have cast a spell over her, as it were. Shedefies me--she refuses to obey my orders. You have estranged us, Mr.Vernon, and brought a cloud into what was a happy home. I appeal to you,in a father's name, to release the girl from the ill-advised and foolishpromises she made you."
"I cannot give her up, sir. I fear you do not understand how muchMadge--Miss Foster--is to me. If words could prove my sincerity, mydevotion to her--"
"Her marriage to you is out of the question."
"May I ask why?"
"My reasons do not concern you."
"But at least I am entitled to some explanation--it is no more than mydue," said Jack. "Why do you object to me as a son-in-law? I am not arake or an idler--you can easily satisfy yourself of my character, ifyou like. I am not a rich man, but I can offer your daughter acomfortable, even a luxurious, home. I have succeeded in my profession,and in another year I shall doubtless be making an income of two orthree thousand pounds."
"I am ready to admit all that," was Stephen Foster's curt reply. "Itdoes not alter the position, however."
"I suppose you have higher views for your daughter!" Jack cried,bitterly.
"Yes, I have," Stephen Foster admitted, after a moment's hesitation. "Idon't mind saying as much. But this interview has already lasted longerthan I intended it should, Mr. Vernon. Have I appealed to you in vain?"
"With all proper respect to you, sir, I can answer you in only one way,"Jack replied, firmly. "Your daughter returns my affection, and she is awoman in ten thousand--a woman for whose love one might well count theworld well lost. I cannot, I will not, give her up."
The young artist's declaration, strange to say, brought no angryresponse from Stephen Foster. For an instant the hard lines on hisface melted away, and there was a gleam of something closely akin toadmiration in his eyes; he actually made a half-movement to hold outhis hand, but as quickly withdrew it. He turned and opened the door.
"Is this your last word?" he asked from the threshold.
"That rests with you. I cannot retreat from my position. Should Irenounce your daughter, after winning her heart, I would deserve tobe called--"
"Very well, sir," interrupted Stephen Foster. "I shall know whatmeasures to take in the future. Forewarned is forearmed. And, by theway, to save you the trouble of hanging about Strand-on-the-Green, Imay tell you that I have sent my daughter out of town on a visit."
With that parting shot he went down the short flight of steps, andpassed into the street. Jack closed the door savagely, and began towalk up and down the studio, as restless as a caged beast.
"Here's a nice mess!" he reflected. "Angry parent, obdurate daughter,and all that sort of thing. But I rather fancy I scored--he gainednothing by his visit, and after he thinks the matter over he willprobably take a more sensible view of it. His appeal to me shows clearlythat he failed to make Madge yield."
On the whole, after further consideration, Jack concluded that there wasno ground for despondency. His spirits rose as he recalled the girl'searnest and loving promises, her assurances of eternal fidelity.
"My darling will be true to me, come what may," he thought. "No amountof persuasion or threats can induce her to give me up, and in the end,when Stephen Foster is convinced of that, he will make the best of itand withdraw his objections. If Madge has been sent out of town, shewent against her will. But, of course, she will manage to let me hearfrom her."
Jack sat down to his desk, intending to write a letter to a friend inParis, a well-to-do artist who lived in the neighborhood of the PareMonceaux. He held his pen undecidedly for a moment, and then leaned backin his chair with a puzzled countenance.
"By Jove, it's queer," he muttered; "but Stephen Foster's voice wasawfully familiar. We never met before, and I never laid eyes on the man,so far as I can remember. I am mistaken. It is only a fancy. No--I haveit! He suggests M. Felix Marchand--there is something in common in theirspeech, though it is very slight. What an odd coincidence!"
That it could possibly be more than a coincidence did not occur to Jack,and he would have laughed the idea to scorn. He dismissed the matterfrom his mind, wrote and posted the letter, and then went off to dine byappointment with Victor Nevill.
There was no word from Madge the next day, and it is to be feared thatJack's work suffered in consequence, and that Alphonse found himslightly irritable. But on the following morning a letter came in thewell-known handwriting. It was very brief. The girl was _not_ out oftown, but was stopping near Regent's Park with an elderly maternal auntwho lived in Portland Terrace, and was addicted to the companionship ofcockatoos and cats, not to speak of a brace of overfed, half-blind pugs.
"I am in exile," the letter concluded, "and the dragon is a watchfuljailer. But she sleeps in the afternoon, and at three o'clock to-morrowI will be inside the Charles street gate."
"To-morrow" meant to-day, and until lunch time Jack's brush flewenergetically over the canvas. He was at the trysting-place at theappointed hour, and Madge was there waiting for him, so ravishinglydressed that he could scarcely resist the temptation to gather her inhis arms. As they strolled through the park he rather gloomily describedhis visit from Stephen Foster, but the girl's half-smiling, half-tearfullook of affection reassured him.
"You foolish boy!" she said, chidingly. "As if there were any danger ofyour losing me. Why, I wouldn't give you up if you wanted me to! I thinkyou got the best of father, dear. He understands now, and by and by hewill relent. He is a good sort, really, and you will like him when youknow him better."
"We made a bad beginning," Jack said, ruefully.
They had reached the lake by this time, and they went on to a bench ina shady and sequestered spot. Madge's high spirits seemed suddenly todesert her, and she looked pensively across the glimmering water to thetall mansions of Hanover Terrace.
"Madge, something troubles you," her lover said, anxiously.
"Yes, Jack. I--I received an anonymous letter at noon. Mrs. Sedgewickforwarded it to me. Oh, it is shameful to speak of it--"
"An anonymous letter? There is nothing more vile or cowardly! Did itconcern me?"
"Yes."
"And spoke badly of me?"
"It didn't say anything good."
"I wish I had the scoundrel by the throat! You have no idea who sentit?"
"None, dear. It was in a strange, scrawly hand, and was postmarkedPaddington."
"It is a mystery I am powerless to explain," Jack said dismally. "Tothe best of my knowledge I have not an enemy in the world. I can recallno one who would wish to do me an ill turn. And the writer lied foullyif he gave me a bad character, Madge. Where is the letter?"
"I destroyed it at once. I hated to see it, to touch it."
"I am sorry you did that. It might have contained some clew. Tell meall, Madge. Surely, darling, you don't belie
ve--"
"Jack, how can you think so?" She glanced up at him with a tender,trustful, and yet half-distressed look in her eyes. "Forgive me, dear.It is not that I doubt you, but--but I must ask you one question. Youare a free man? There is no tie that could forbid you to marry me?"
"I am a free man," Jack answered her solemnly. "Put such evil thoughtsout of your mind, my darling. By the passionate love I feel for you, bymy own honor, I swear that I have an honest man's right to make youmine. But, as I told you before, I had a reckless past--"
"I don't want to hear about it," Madge interrupted.
No one was within sight or sound, so she put her arms about his neck andlifted her lips to his.
"Jack, you have made me so happy," she whispered. "I will forget thatfalse, wicked letter. I love you, love you, dear. And I will be yourwife whenever you wish--"
Her voice broke, and he kissed a tear from her burning cheek.
"My Madge!" he said, softly. "Do you care so much for me?"
Half an hour later they parted at the Hanover Gate. As he turned hissteps homeward, the cowardly anonymous letter lay heavily on his mind.Who could have written it, and what did it contain? He more thansuspected that it referred to his youthful marriage with Diane Merode.
When he reached the studio he found on his desk a letter bearing aFrench stamp. He opened it curiously.